When Will the Music Stop?
by Tough Fluff
Summary: 5 years later, Tristan and Rory finally met for the first time since that night. They have grown up, graduated from university, and shoved the events of that night to the back of their heads. But did they really forget? [w/ epilogue!]
1. Prelude

This is the first time I write a GG fic….blah, blah, blah, blah.  I'm sure you guys read this speech numerous times before, so I won't bore you a similarly redundant and slightly differentiated version.  Anyways this is just some POV stuff.  I'm temporary making this one shot deal due to excessive homework from hell.  (Down with the establishment!)  Reviews and constructive criticism *hint, hint* would be appreciated.  All hate mail will be automatically directed to the trashcan due to my weak heart and overly reactive imagination.  (Serious!  I'm sure I'm a textbook case in some country's education curriculum.)  So here you go, knock yourself out!  

P.S.: Ignore the typo.  I've been chain coffee drinking (like chain smoking, but with an infuriating side effect of stomach ulcers instead of lung cancer.) and the last time I slept was……I'm not sure.

P.S. 2: Last time I checked, that was at least 5 different ways to spell Tristan's name.  I based my decision on the gilmore-girls.net transcript section.  Please don't stone me…It's…it's…it's illegal!!

Disclaimer:  If I own this whole moolah, you think I would be here curled up in front of the computer instead of curling up in my penthouse suite waiting for the money from various endorsements to roll in?!  But to those mentally and creatively challenged people:  No, I don't not own Gilmore Girls and its respective characters and plot.  Sue me and you'll get all my lifesavings, which when last calculated, came to a GRAND total of $55.72…Canadian!!!  (Stupid weak Cdn dollar.) 

**When Will the Music Stop?**

Tristan slapped one of his patented megawatt smile as he walked across this room; another high society function to go through.   If Tennessee Williams was here, he would say that this place reeked of the odor of mendacity.  He nodded amiably to some passing guests, pretending that their participation actually matters.  He is no doubt reciprocating their actions and thoughts.  22 years.  It's been twenty-two years since he was introduced to these people and it is amazing that he had yet to throw a fit in public.  He had yet to run out in the middle of a dinner party and abandon this façade.  _That's because there's nowhere to run.  You Idiot._  He reminded himself again as he approach the window.

            It was raining, correction, pouring outside.  Brazen winds threaten to decapitate the beautiful chestnut tree outside.  Occasion slivers of lightning would dart across the sky followed by the vicious roar of thunder.  It was one of those nights that began every cliché filled B-rate movie in human history.  It was one of those nights that force you to think of your past.  _Hold your thoughts, Dugray.  You are NOT going there._

            He turned around and glanced across the room.  Yep, it's still there and sadly, it was still filled with people.  People parading their riches and status around.  They liked to talk about their affection for their yacht, their summer home, their prized thoroughbred and their children; in that exact same order.  He came here earlier with a date.  What's her name again?  Lexie? Trixie? Dixie?  He had forgotten about it already.  She had no doubt joined a group of equally dimwitted girls chatting over the latest Gucci haute couture by Tom Ford.  They probably have trouble pronouncing the word "haute couture".  But Tristan didn't get overworked over it.  Whoever her name was, was one of the many arm candies in this room.  The kind you allowed them to cling onto you for one evening to please your parents.  It was a fair exchange.  The chance for her to be associated with a Dugray, and a moment of peace and silence for him.

            Tristan unconsciously swirled the tumble in his hands.  The amber liquid danced precariously close to the edge, threatening to spill all over his Armani tux.  But does it matter?  He liked tempting fate.  Most people like to live on the edge.  But he was different.  They usually would step back once the edge started to crumble.  But Tristan would stomp on it, daring fate to deal his card.  The proverbial silver spoon came with a rigid schedule.  Comprehend social etiquettes by three, fluent in French by eight, top student in a prep school at all times.  Rules were everywhere, and flirting with fate was the only way to defy these rules.  The elder Dugray thought military school would break him off of this habit.  But the only military school did was to enforce such behavior.  He took a swig from his tumbler.  Ahh, military school, an unfortunate side effect of his last ditch effort to…  _Remember, you are NOT going back there.  _Right.__

            He willed himself off the memory train and concentrated on his reflection staring back at him from the window.  A blond haired boy with a great physique and an equally spectacular pedigree.  If it is so spectacular, why are those blue eyes devoid of emotion?  If those eyes were windows to his soul, then the only thing one could see was a piece of barren, frozen land.  He remembered a time when these blue eyes still held a spark.  And he clearly remembered another pair of blue eyes containing the same spark.  _Tristan Janlen Dugray, you are NOT going anywhere with that!_

"Rory Gilmore!  I'm glad you can make it.  What took you so long?"  Lucy Pratt, the hostess greeted the girl that walked through the door with a tad too much perkiness.  The sound of her name slowly brought up his adolescent memories.  _That's it, there goes the floodgate._

            From his position back here, he can clearly see the reflection of the girl.  Rory had taken the towel that the butler offered and slowly dabbing away the water droplets on her.  In a way, she was still the girl he left behind.  Still the beautiful face, the stunning blue eyes, and the breathtaking confidence.  But the Mary he left behind would not walk comfortably into a society soirée wearing a black strapless dress and matching black stilettos.  That little cocktail dress was the kind that Audrey Hepburn would have worn in one of those black and white films.  Timeless, elegant, classic, breathtaking.  He was not sure whether he was describing the dress or the girl within it.  Her hair was pinned back, revealing a pair of delicate silver hoops, the only piece of jewelry on her.  Little wet tendrils plastered against her forehead.  He actively repressed the urge to touch them.  

            Tristan haven't heard about her over the years.  The Hartford grapevine came up empty-handed with this Harvard grad.  Then again, Rory didn't cause juicy scandals.  She didn't have a torrid affair with the swimming instructor or the need for a weekend nose job.  She was a boring person…at least in the society's standards.  After all, when it comes to shock value, a secret abortion will always win over a perfect GPA, hands down.  

"We would've been here earlier, but something came up last minute."  Rory answered as she accepted a champaign flute from one of the servers.   

            Wait a minute…_we?_  Maybe she came with a girlfriend.  That was the simple explanation he wanted to settle on.  But the little voice in his head reminded him of something that is entirely possible.  _Maybe she came with a date.  _Though they are not standing that close to him, their conversation had effortlessly captured his attention as if those words were equipped with a homing device.  

"Where is he?  I thought you guys are coming together."

            _He._  He sucked in a deep breath.  He never thought such a simple word could cause so much pain in him.  He tried to ignore the sensation for too long now.  For years, he thought the word Rory would lose its effect on him.  Apparently, he was wrong.  _Tristan Dugray still has a thing for Rory Gilmore.  _A voice cam out of nowhere taunted him.  Every single one of those words was giving him a headache.  The mere thought was spinning his head.  

            Maybe she was still with Dean.  _Dean_.  He remembered the name clearly ever since the first time he saw him at the dance.  More than once was Tristan willing to give up anything to switch places with the lucky guy.  Anything.  Anything to be able to get close to her without her sneering at him.  But those thoughts usually went nowhere.  Once his head was cleared up, he would chide himself of such stupidity.  Sure, spending quality time with the girl of his dreams was great.  But did he have the guts to trade in the obscenely large mansion, the indoor and outdoor swimming pool and the country club membership for an after school job at a local market and community league baseball?  Society maybe a pain in the ass, but there were convenient perks that came along with the Dugray coat of arms.  Perks that he's not ready to part with.

"He went to park the car.  You know how men are around cars."  Her expression was a mixture of exasperation and amusement accompanied by eye rolling.  "Something about the valet not treating his baby properly."

"And the object of his affection would be…"

"It's his new Ferrari.  Silver."  She answered the question casually.

            Wait a minute.  How could bagboy afford a Ferrari?  That means he is not Dean.  The word had brought his spirit back up again.  He already had a preliminary image of Rory's date.  Rich boy, fast girls, fast car, fast life.  He knew, because he was one of them.  In fact, he's still one of them…except the fast girl part.  He gave that up a long time ago.  He allowed the smirk to stay on his face.  This meant he still had a chance of proving himself to her.  That's the reason why he cleaned up his act.  So that one day, by an off chance, he could win her heart over.  He looked up the window just in time to see the girl pointed in his direction and Rory approaching him.  He put down his drink and straightened out his bowtie.  But the moment never came.

"Hey sweetie, looking for me?"  Somebody had beat Tristan to the punch line.  If the sight of the pair exchanging a quick kiss was akin to her shoving a dagger into his heart, then the sight of her date was the hand that twisted the dagger.  The person whose hand Rory was holding was none other than Mark Walcott.  

            There went his hopes.  Mark was in anyway better than Tristan.  The Dugray family name might have came with a catchy Latin motto, but the Walcotts were genuine blue-blooded old money family.  One can clearly trace the bloodline back to some British feudal lord.  The Walcotts was more influential than the Dugrays if that was humanly possible.  Mark attended Ealing Prep; a school that requires an influential family name, a 140 IQ AND a fat wallet to get in.  Even his freaking Ferrari was better than Tristan's.  He remembered Mark's Ferrari Barchetta making some loud noises over the Hartford grapevine.  Well-deserved noises, seeing that there's only 448 of those around the world.  But most importantly, Mark didn't have the reputation of being a player.  He was one of those rare breeds in society that actually treated women with the respect they deserved.  

            5 years.  He was away for 5 years.  _Did you expect things to stay the same in these 5 years?  Did you expect her to WAIT for you?_  He already knew the answer to those two questions.  He looked up at the couple again.  The sight of him whispering into her ears and her giggling caused his blood to boil.  In his memory, Rory Gilmore never giggled.  She laughed heartily; she smiled graciously; she beamed brilliantly.  But she never giggled.  That was a down to earth kind of giggle accompanied with a whimsical twinkle in her eyes.  Not the empty noise those peroxide blondes made.  He emptied the content of his tumbler and set it down harsher than he expected.  

            Rory Gilmore is happy.  _Get over it!_

If this happened 5 years ago, he would have walked out to the parking lot and leave a few complimentary scratches on that shinny new Barchetta.  But, now, he just wanted to walk away from this disgusting scene.  He decided to leave the room and find a quieter place to lick his wound.  No way was he going to stand around like an idiot around Rory.    

~*~*~*~*~

Rory slipped quietly into the library and closed the door behind her.  It was a crazy circus out there.  She noticed that Mrs. Blaine already had a few too many glasses of cosmopolitans and would probably confront her husband about his infidelity anytime now.  Dr. Chase had slipped out to the servant's quarter, and even Rory could guess what's going on there.  And the downstairs guestroom, don't even go there.  Mark and her came here because he's a Walcott and she's a Gilmore and somewhere in somebody's rule book, that meant mandatory appearance in on of the biggest "parties" of the year.  If she had a choice, she would have stayed home and watch Casablanca again.  

She walked over to the fireplace and threw in another log.  She took off her shoes and sat right in front of the cracking flame, hoping to catch some of the warmth radiated from it.  Through no fault of the central heating system, it was cold outside.  It was the people.  Everyone with their masks slapped on, pretending to be interested in each other's story.  She didn't particularly enjoy being here.  This is like a terrible school play.  Everyone remembered the lines, but there's no emotion behind those words and there's no director to yell cut.  Then again, maybe she shouldn't judge them so harshly.  After all, as Oscar Wilde once said, "Never speak disrespectfully of Society.  Only people who can't get into it do that."  

In fact, she should be grateful.  She would never reach what she's standing right now without the help from the Gilmore name.  Without her grandparents, she would never have got into Chilton, and might have never gotten into Harvard, and consequently never receive her law degree.  No exactly never, but her journey to academic success would be harder; much harder.  

When she graduated from Chilton, she thought there was a whole world of opportunity ahead of her.  She could pursue her journalism dream.  She could become a New York Times best selling author; or the very least a New York Times reporter.  She was invincible.  But then, reality quickly crashed upon her and she was force to cower back to the comforts and stability of her family.  Though she didn't enjoy the process, she wasn't ashamed to admit that the Gilmore name had opened doors for her.  After these years, she had newfound respect for her mom's courage.  She wasn't sure if she had the guts to run away if she was put into a similar situation.  

She picked up one of her shoes and absentmindedly caressed the smooth suede.  Though they were brand new, they were extremely comfortable to walk on.  She turned it around and its black and white label stared back at her from the sole; Manolo Blahnik, the best of its kind.  It was a present from Mark.  She liked them; it was one of those sensible shoes that you could wear to work or an evening party.  But then again, there were limitations.  You could not wear them to a playground; you couldn't run through the woods with them; and you certainly would not go feed the ducks wearing those.  It is beautiful in the outside, but it is also restraining.  Sort of like the way her life had morphed into.  

She liked Mark.  He was the only one that had ever understood her dilemma.  Maybe because they were similar in many aspects: antisocial bookworms thrust into an environment where the word privacy was only an urban legend.  A place where both of them did not belong.  Yet, there were still some fundamental differences between them.  How could you describe the delightful quirkiness of Stars Hollow to a guy whose cheapest car he'd ever driven was a BMW.  Her idea of Italian food was her and Lorelei parking their asses in front of the TV during movies night and sharing an extra topping pizza between them.  His idea of Italian food would be flying the both of them towards Italy in his private jet and order actual Italian food in a local restaurant with his perfect Italian and gelato for dessert.  Her comfort food was Luke's chocolate pancake, his was…she didn't know, something from Dean and Deluca's maybe.  _He reminded her of somebody she once knew.  _

Rory slipped her shoes back on and stood up.  This was hardly the time or place to contemplate her relationship with Mark.  She needed something to take her mind off of it and staring into a crackling flame no longer works.  She needed music.  Maybe something by Guns N' Roses or at the very least Tool; but the chance of finding either was very slim in this house.  She scanned the CD rack, discarding Limp Bizkit as an obvious no.  She deemed Our Lady Peace not suitable for the moment and made a conscious effort to not throw Britney Spears into the fire.  Finally, she settled on jazz.  It seemed appropriate.  She wanted something about unconditional and naïve love; the kind you get in a 50's movies.  But as Duke Ellington's music seeped through the speakers, she realized something else was missing.  A book to help her escape into a different dimension.  

The Pratt's may lack taste when it came to decorating the living room.  But whatever artistic merit they lack was duly compensated in the library.  Mahogany bookcases lining every inch of the wall containing topics that ranged from forensic entomology to contemporary poetry.  After much debate, Rory finally picked classics as the topic of the night.  She slowly climbed up the ladder, careful not to rip her dress, and precariously balanced herself in front of volumes upon volumes of leather bound books.  She ran her slim finger over them.  

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice: she loved it, but she also read it more or less a hundred time and had most of its lines memorized.

Fydor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment: only Chilton could make Russian literature boring.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby:  the point of escape literature was to escape from reality.

Homer, The Odyssey:  normally, she won't refuse epic poetry, but it's too long to read.

John Milton, Paradise Lost:  too religious and anti-epic to read in an obviously un-religious environment.  

Plato, Republic:  too intense for a quick read.

_Come on, stop being so nitpicky_.  That's it, the next book will be the one you'll settle on.  Rory closed her eyes and randomly pulled out a book.  She opened her eyes and climbed down the ladder with the same care as before.  She sank into one of the soft buttery leather armchairs and finally looked at the book in her hands.  The little gold words on the spine read Shakespeare.  Not bad, considering she could use the whimsical comedies of Much Ado About Nothing and some scenes in King Lear would compliment the weather nicely.  But when she opened the cover and looked at the cover, she let out an inward groan.  Of all the books in this massive library, fate made her picked Romeo and Juliet; the one book that brought back those memories.  She looked up towards the ceiling to project some intense negative energy at an imaginary higher existence, instead, only an antique chandelier was on the receiving end of her death glare.  

After a while, she gave in and opened the book to Act five.  As she read the final word of the doomed lovers, she was immediately teleported back in time to the night of the performance.  Something special happened that night.  But suddenly, as if she'd hit some primitive protective reflex, she snapped the book shut.  It was foolish to go down _that _memory lane.  It was even more foolish for her to attempt reading it since five years ago.  And it was extremely foolish for her to believe that she could stay peaceful and calm reading it.  She closed her eyes to collect her thoughts, and when she opened them again, she saw something she didn't noticed before.

She rapidly blinked her eyes again to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.  It was still there.  From where she's sitting, she saw somebody curled up a corner behind the heavy draperies.  Somebody with tousled blond hair with his back was facing hers.  That head looked awfully familiar and when he ran his fingers through his hair, her body shuddered uncontrollably.  The glint of silver on his finger confirmed her worse suspicion.  Heck, he'd been loitered around her locker often enough for her to recognize that distinct piece of jewelry.  In fact she thought she'd saw him earlier.  But he was gone before she could talk to him and a lonely tumbler in the windowsill was the sole evidence to prove that it wasn't a mirage.  Before she knew it, she heard her voice resonated through the room.

"Tristan Dugray, is that you?"  Her voice was quivering with uncertainty.  This isn't exactly the way she'd imagined meeting him.  She's not sure if she had dreamt of such moment.  But she knew if this ever happened, it wouldn't be this way.  

Tristan slowly walked out of his hiding place and stood in front of her.  He still looked the exact same way as that night; same messy blond hair, same blue eyes and the same cocky stride.  But she noticed something else upon further examination.  The hair was a bit shorter, the eyes were a bit depressed and the stride was not as cocky as before.  It looked as if he abandoned some of his essence in North Carolina.  She stood up and closed the space between them.  As if on cue, the smoky voice of the jazz singer filled up the awkward silence between them.

_Do nothing till you hear from me_

_Pay no attention to what's said_

_Why one should tear the seam of anyone's dream_

_Is over my head_

            "Hey."  They both uttered and shut up simultaneously.  __

_Do nothing till you hear from me_

_At least consider our romance_

_If you should take the word of others you've heard_

_I haven't a chance_

            "So, how's…"  They blurted out together again, only having the sentence cut short.  The room was replaced by stifling silence again.  _Come on Rory, this was that guy that made high school unpleasant for you.  Aren't you going to snap at him or bicker with him or at the very least make a lame Jane Eyre analogy. You never lost you tongue around Tristan before.  _She can feel her hear rate shoot up to 130 as the both of the glance around the room in search of a new opening line.  She looked at him and saw his eyes eventually traveled to the book she was still holding.  __

_True, I've been seen with someone new_

_But does that mean that I'm untrue?_

_While we're apart, the words in my heart_

_Reveal how I feel about you_

_Some kiss may cloud my memory_

_And other arms may hold a thrill_

_But please do nothing till you hear it from me_

_And you never will!_

Their clumsy attempt to start a normal conversation was cut short by Mark poking his head into the room.  

"Hey Rory, you done…I'm sorry, I didn't realize someone else was in here."  

"Mark."  She didn't know why she's upset at seeing Mark's face.  She also didn't understand the pang of guilt that shot up within her.  She didn't do anything…did she?  "I want you to meet someone.  This is Tristan Dugray.  We used to go to school together.  Tristan, this is Mark Walcott, my boyfriend."  The extra emphasis on the word boyfriend was not for Tristan, it was for her.  

"It's a pleasure to meet you."  

"The pleasure is all mine's."  Tristan snapped out of the haze and shook Mark's out stretched hand.  He tried to keep his voice steady, even though every fiber of his body was straining against the impulse to shred the dark haired boy into little pieces.  He gestured towards a brandy decanter on the coffee table.  "Care to have a drink?"

"Actually I have to take a rain check on that.  Rory and I have to run."  He gently ushered the girl towards the door.  

"I'll probably see you around some other time.  It was great seeing you again, Tristan."  Rory added before leaving the room.  With that, Rory Gilmore had disappeared from his life as quickly as she showed up.  

Tristan poured himself a drink and sat down dejectedly on the sofa.  The book was still sitting quietly on the corner table where Rory had placed it.  He picked it up and put it on his lap.  He remembered he once learned a dance where everyone changed their partners repeatedly throughout the dance.  But no matter where you go, you'd always end up with the same person you started with.  He traced the indented words on the cover of Romeo and Juliet.  He wondered _would Rory Gilmore end up in his arms once the music stopped.  _

Final a/n:  Just want to tell you guys that the Oscar Wilde quote was from "The Importance of Being Earnest".  It is a beautiful satirical play and I really recommend it.  I also urge you to read it before the movie comes out.  Yeah…that's it…


	2. Andante

**Fluffy's Chat:  **The little light bulb in my head lit up as the computer-crashing** 22 **responses appeared.**  First Thought:**  As Julia Roberts said in the golden Globes last year, "I was just **shamelessly filled with joy!**"  **Second Thought:  **Holy crap, half of you didn't realize I was tentatively making it a **one-shot** deal!  Hence, this time, I'm going to **bold** the **keywords** hoping you guys may notice it.  Just want to **appreciate** your support and FYI I was so **happy** when someone used the word **poignant** in their review (you know who you are!)  Due to popular demand (I consider 22 as a popular number.) I'm going to continue with this.  **Just to warn you**, I'm **NOT** good with conversations and all my Oxford Thesaurus words were used up in my last fic, so it's **downhill from now on!**  Don't say I didn't warn you of the **sudden decline of quality** in this fic.  One more section should come up before I finish this trilogy, and major exams are coming up (Stupid education system!)  Therefore, **it will be a while** (2-3 weeks if you're lucky) before the next one comes up.  I am **not** an **evil manipulative, review-hungry** (But reviews would be nice) bitch.  I hope you guys like this.  So, here you go, **go nuts!**

Disclaimer:  I don't own anything.  In fact, the sweatshirt I'm wearing right now, is a loaner from…I forgot.  I'm a poor student who has extreme trouble with writing a 1500 word on contemporary poetry (funny I had no trouble writing a 5500 word fic) and is practicing the finer art of procrastination.  Just to make sure you guys know that!  

When Will the Music Stop?

Rory slowly dragged her tired body up the stairs to the upper Manhattan suite.  You'd think when one paid so much rent, one would at least entitled to basic necessities, i.e. a functional elevator.  And the building would at least possess a backup up power generator to ensure a continuous supply of such luxury.  She felt short of breath by the time she reached the door to her home.  She silently cursed the artery-clogging gourmet hors d'oeuvres the host served earlier, knowing full well that the root of her trouble was her reluctance to hit the gym.  

The moment she stepped in, she was greeted by one of the boxes and nearly tripped over it.  _Okay, so maybe I'm a little behind the schedule when it comes to unpacking._  She navigated around the darkness, careful not to walk into another equally stubborn box.  After much effort, she finally found the light switch and flicked it on.  The gentle light descend upon her near empty apartment.  Boxes were still haphazardly strewn all over the place and the furniture was still in various awkward arrangements and the light fixtures…what light fixtures?  

Mark had given her a ride.  But the whole trip was consumed by silence.  The unfinished business before the party was still firmly rooted in his mind and she was equally distracted by something else.  She spent most of her time studying the driving behavior of surrounding drivers if her mind wasn't off to la-la land. __

She grabbed a coke from the fridge and walked out to the balcony.  Little freckles of light from various commercial and residential buildings were the only substitution for the stars.  The event that happened a few hours ago stealthily commandeered her attention.  _That_ was a nerve-wrecking experience, more so than one would expect.  In a way, she was glad to see an old friend again; albeit they weren't _that_ friendly back then and he did complicate her life.  But she also experienced some other unknown feelings when she first saw him and that scare the heck out of her.  Any why did she feel guilty when Mark walked in on her?  _What was going on?_  She needed some sage advise.  

She walked back into the apartment and instinctively found the phone wedged between some cushions.  Only when she started to punch the numbers did she realized there's no one to call.  Her mom was on her honeymoon trip in a country where Lorelei's description for it was exotic and Luke's choice of adjective was unhygienic.  Rory still couldn't figure out which country.  Of course, the fact that they didn't tell her the location or leave an emergency phone number behind didn't help.  Something about catching up the lost time.  

Usually her second choice would be Lane, but it's 1 o'clock in the morning for Boston and she didn't want to risk waking the baby.  She could call Paris, but her newfound friend probably would strangle her over the phone upon hearing the topic of discussion.  And she doubt Jess would stay awake during her "girl talk."  She felt alone and helpless.  She put the phone back on its cradle.  _This is how grown-ups deal with their problems, on their own.  Suck it up, princess.  _

She mindlessly walked back to her bedroom, kicking away a few lighter boxes to clear up the path.  Her interview was scheduled for tomorrow and she desperately needed some sleep.  Last she checked, potential employers did not have high opinion on raccoon eyes.  She could contemplate this problem some other time.    

            ~*~*~*~*~

            Tristan was unceremoniously ushered into the elevator as he walked in.  Although 11:15 was too early for lunch time and too late for people to go to work, the elevator still manage to give its passenger a packed-sardine experience.  He wasn't in an extremely good mood right now being that Mr. Devereaux wanted him to revise the proposal…again for the fifth time this week.   He was busy staring at his Gucci loafers when some girl glided in last minute before the door closed.  But that wasn't the reason why he looked up.  It was the familiar ring to her voice.  

            "76 please.  Thank you."  She said politely to the guy standing in front of the buttons.  That guy appeared to be dazed by her appearance.  Her smile had probably made his day.  Considering the owner of that voice, who wouldn't.  

            The girl standing right in front of him was none other than Rory Gilmore.  He didn't know whether to laugh or be mad at the way fate worked lately.  The famous line from Casablanca immediately sprung up in his head.  "Of all the gin joints, in all the town, in all the world, she walks into mine."  Now he finally understood Rick's sentiment in that movie.   

            This Rory looked distinctly different than the girl he saw last night.  Last night, she looked like a stylish debutante.  An stylish debutante who was capable of human intelligence, but a debutante nonetheless.  But now, with her navy pinstripe pantsuit and no nonsense suitcase, she looked every bit as capable to change the world as any mega-conglomerate CEOs.  Her long chocolate hair was pulled into a tight ponytail.  In fact the only clue to indicate she was the Rory he saw last night was that same pair of black stilettos.

            The top of her head was only inches from his nose.  Tristan allowed himself to indulge her scent.  Rory was not wearing any of those overpriced brand name perfume, yet she has a distinct smell.  A mixture of her shampoo and something sweet, like vanilla.  He was too preoccupied by her to notice the elevator had reached her floor.  Wait a minute…that's _his_ floor!  When the two of them walked out, he was wondering when would she notice his presence.  After all, the old Rory Gilmore he knew in high school was unusually dense around him.  But the moment came earlier than he expected.

            "Tristan, what are you doing here?"  Rory was surprise to see the person that occupied her thoughts 5 seconds ago was materializing before her.  She hoped she's not losing her mind.  

            "That should be my question."  Tristan added after see her skeptical face.  "I work here."

            "Tristan Dugray works?"  Rory was suppressing the urge to laugh out loud.  She took a quick glance at the bronze words on the wall to confirm she's at the right place.  "Seriously?"

            "I've answered your question, now you have to answer mine.  Why are _you_ here?"

            "I have an interview in 10 minutes."

"No way!" 

"What do you mean by no way."  She dug out her palm pilot and waved it in his face.  "It says so here: Friday 11:30, job interview at Apex Consulting.  See." 

"You have an interview here.  _Here?_"

"As much as I'd like to stick around to have you repeat my words, I really have to go."  Her tone sounded exasperated.   "I don't think the boss sees tardiness as an impressive qualification."

Tristan still had many questions for her, but she'd already walked away.  He was walking towards his office when it suddenly dawned on him: she had the habit of doing that lately.

~*~*~*~*~

Rory put on her business smile as she walked into the office.  She had temporarily ignored the previous encounter with Tristan and concentrated on the battle ahead.  If she got this job, she would finally get out of this limbo she's in right now.  As much as she liked the freedom right now, she craved order and stability.  Her calm exterior was still intact until the second the man behind the desk stood up, she nearly fell flat on her face.  That's Tristan!  

But then she looked carefully again and all her previous notion disappeared; it's only a guy that _looked like_ Tristan.  He's probably some years older than him and the hair was more brown than golden.  His voice was more assertive opposed to the deeper, huskier tone of Tristan's.  _Why would she remember the speech pattern of Tristan?  _She regained her posture and chided herself for overreacting.  _But why did you overreact?  _She pushed the thought away to the dark corner along with the rest of the Tristan-related questions.  

"Morning.  My name is Daniel Carter."  _See, he isn't Tristan._  

"Rory Gilmore.  Please to meet you."  She took his had and shook them in what she hoped to be a firm, confident manner.  

"Have a seat.  Your alma mater is Harvard, right?"  

"Yes sir."  She hoped her anxiety couldn't be heard from her voice.  She already cut down this morning's coffee consumption to 3 cups to prevent her from getting too jumpy.  

"Graduated on the dean's list, that is very impressive Miss Gilmore."

"Thank you sir."

"Umm, I've read your resume and I realized this is the first job out of college for you.  Don't worry, I'm not objected in hiring first-timers.  In fact, I found them to have yet to develop annoying habits."

"Definitely.  I'm a piece of clean slate.  No bad habits.  I'm like a lump of clay, you can shape me into cute animals.  In fact, you can make a claymation out of me, something like Chicken Run."  Rory realized she was babbling again and immediately shut up before she sabotaged the interview.  

The guy chuckled at the notion, obviously sharing her humor. Rory thanked her lucky stars for that.   "That's nice.  I would like to go through a few points with you.  You will be a junior legal advisor of the firm.  You'll handle most paper work and research and there's a very high possibility for all-nighters.  Although this is a relative young firm and we're learning the ropes along with you, both we and our clients do not tolerate any mistakes.  Salary and job position will be adjusted according to your performance."

"Wait a minute, does this mean…"

"You're hired.  Welcome to Apex Consulting.  Can you start this Monday?"

"Yes sir."  Those two words didn't even begin to describe her joy.  She needed to share this with someone.  The moment she stepped out of this office, she's going to call Lane.  

"Here, why don't I walk you out.  By the way, please call me Carter.  Sir makes me sound like I have a pacemaker and collect 50's memorabilia during the weekends as a hobby."  Rory laughed as his comment.  He sounded like a nice person to work with.  Fate is finally working in her favor.  She was still basking in euphoria of happiness when she was interrupted by Carter.  "Tristan, what a coincidence.  I'd like you to meet…"

"Rory Gilmore."  Tristan looked up temporarily from a file to see the reason why Carter flagged him down.  

"You two knew each other.  Well that's good, because you guys will be working together from now on.  Look, I need to go to a lunch date with Benson, why don't you two get acquainted with each other."  He gave a firm pat on Tristan's back and left the two standing in the deserted hallway.  Rory worried this would be a repeat performance of last night.  Fortunately, Tristan managed to start the conversation now that the initial shock of meeting her wore off.  

"So, we're working together now."

"You mean _you_ actually _work_ here?  I don't see the word Dugray plastered on the company title.  Are you sure you're not here just to pick up the receptionist?"  She cocked one of her eyebrows.  

"I don't necessary have to work for my father.  His business is in capable hands and they don't need me to meddle around.  Besides, Apex is sort of family business.  Carter is my cousin from my mother's side of the family."  He paused for a moment.  "About the receptionist, I don't think I'll pay much attention to her now that someone else comes along."  Tristan leaned in for the last part.  His mouth dangerously close to her ear lobes; so close that her silver hoops moved along with his breath.  A delicate shade of blush flooded her cheeks.  Tristan was surprised that she was not totally immune to him as he had expected.  _Interesting_.  

"And here I thought military school would reform you or at the very least age would mature you.  Too bad, you're still the same annoying jerk from high school."  Even Rory knew that was a weak comeback, but their close proximity was frying her senses.  _Rory Gilmore, remember you have a boyfriend; a very good one, one that respects and care for you.  His name is Tri...MARK!!  HIS NAME IS MARK!!!_

"Think about me much?  How about this, why don't we have lunch together.  This way we can catch up the old times and _you_ can have unlimited access at ogling at me."

"A couple points: number one, I don't _do_ ogling.  Number two: as much as I like to spend time with you and your over inflated ego in the same room, no can't do.  I promised to have lunch with someone else."  She needed to get out of this place and more importantly away from Tristan, fast.  Rory started towards the elevator only to turn back after a few steps.  Out of social courtesy, she dug a card from her purse and slipped it in his hand.  "But I won't mind having coffee sometime."  And for the third time in the last 24 hours, she walked away from him, again.  

"See ya, Mary."  He looked at the number on the card and whispered under his breath.  "See ya."

~*~*~*~*~

Saturday, it had been two days since that whole fiasco.  Rory told Lane everything once she got home.  She was hoping for a sound mind to help dispel the nagging feeling in the back of her mind.  But Lane offered little assistance.  Between calling her new workplace, "Satan's training wheels" and repeatedly asked if the grown up Tristan was still as hot as the younger version she'd saw in her yearbook, she most likely augmented her troubles.  _Tristan hot?_  She swatted away that thought as she guided the car next to the curb.  _Rory, you're driving your boyfriend to the airport, the least you can do is to not think of someone else when he's sitting right beside you._  

"Umm, you know you totally missed the curb right?"  Mark asked when he walked out of the car.  

"Curb, smurb.  That, is only a state of mind, a myth, like decaf coffee."  She laughed it off as she killed the engine.  "So you're going to Prague?"   She asked as Mark lifted out his suitcase from the trunk.  

"Yeah.  Some problem came up with a business transaction.  The whole fiasco started last Thursday before the Pratt's party and it's taking them awfully long to wrap it up.  I better go there in person just to make sure everything runs smoothly."  He held her hand and they walked into the terminal.  As expected, his hand was always warm and strong and Rory felt safe when it enclosed hers.  Mark was someone she can truly lean back against.  

"How long?"  

"Two weeks, max."

"Two weeks is a very long time."  Long enough for many things to happen.  She held up his hand and traced the lines on his palm.  "I might run away with the butler during this time."  

"Rory, you don't have a butler." Mark deadpanned.  "You live in a two bedroom upper Manhattan apartment, alone."

"Hmm, are you implying that I should hire a butler."  She took out her palm pilot and said, "I guess I'll just have to write it down then."

Mark detangled the gadget from her hands.  "You know, I seriously regret talking you into buying this.  I should have let you leave your life all disorganized as it was with post-it notes everywhere."  He laughed.  "Let's see what else in on your evil agenda.  Umm…pick up Dean from airport, should I be worried?"  The glint in his eyes was more likely a byproduct of his amusement than jealousy.  

"Nah.  We're just really good friends now.  He got a job in Texas and we're just meeting during his connection.  Think of all the politically-incorrect cowboy jokes I can make now!"  _Besides, of all thing considered, he wasn't the person you need to worry about…not that you need to._  

Mark squeezed her hand.  "I'll miss you."  Rory looked into his eyes and saw genuine emotion behind them.  This man loved her.  She squeezed back.  _Don't lose sight of what you have now._

"Modern technological conveniences such as phone and e-mail should keep the pain to a minimal."  They were near the gate and it's time for farewell.   "Take care."

"I think I'll be fine as long as the in-flight movie is not Alive."  He pulled her in a deep embrace.  Rory allowed her face to be buried in his broad shoulders and held him tightly; as if she would forget what he feel's like once he's gone.  She inhaled deeply, just so the mild scent of soap and masculinity will remain in her mind.  He leaned in and she kissed him passionately.  Her hands cupped his strong jaw.  She was desperately trying to brand him into her memory fearing the very image of him will disappear once he walked pass the gate.  They finally broke free and both were a little breathless.

"I think I'll miss you too."  She said.

"I have something to tell you once I got back."  He whispered into her ears before he left.

~*~*~*~*~

Twelve hours and 5 cups of coffee later, Rory was lying awake in bed counting the hairline cracks on the ceiling.  Outside the window, Gotham City still continued at its hyper pace even though the sun was long gone.  She was attacked by insomnia again due largely to the infuriating thoughts of Tristan, rather than the coffee.  _What is happening?_  Why did her heart beat faster and the second toe on her left foot go numb in his presence?  Why did she felt like she was cheating on Mark when he walked into the library that night?  Why didn't she exchange witty banter and trade snappy remarks with him as she used to when he was standing next to her?  He made the first year of Chilton miserable for her, but then why wasn't there any intense hatred and instead, only intense nervousness?  And _why_ did she remember the distinct scent of Tristan's aftershave, yet she only had a vague memory of Mark's?  She was attempting to designate answers to these questions when she was interrupted by a noise followed by silent swearing coming from her living room.  _Dean.  _

Rory's face was buried in The Financial Weekly when Dean walked up to her earlier.  Although he got a new haircut, Rory had no trouble recognizing the boy in the tanned leather jacket and khakis.  His boyish all-American charm was replaced by a more sincere but equally all-American maturity; and there was something indescribable in his posture.  She smiled back at her memory.  One could never forget their first love, no matter how much they've changed.  

What started out as a simple gathering in between connecting flights turned out to be an overnight stay at her place.  His flight was delayed to the next morning due to mechanical failure, and because of their extensive history, Rory insisted him to stay for the night.  After all, there was an extra bed set up in the next room and this was a more economical option than booking into one of the many overpriced hotel around the city.  Dean was suffering from the exhaustion of jetlag  and immediately fell asleep upon walking into her guest bedroom.  She hugged an afghan around her and treaded towards the source of the noise.  

"What's going on?"  She asked quizzically as she switched on the light.  Dean was leaning against the kitchen counter rubbing a corner of his forehead.  

"I was planning to get a glass of water when I tripped over that."  He gestured towards the little brown cube.  "I'm sorry if I've woke you up."

"It's alright, I'm awake."  She shrugged her shoulders.

"What's in that box anyways?"  He asked curiously.  

She ripped it open to reveal its contents.

"Books.  Why am I not surprised.  Here, since I can't go back to sleep and you're awake, why don't I help you unpack.  We can have some coffee and talk about the old days…at least till 6 hours later when you have to drive me back to the airport."

"Good idea!  I'll start the coffee machine."  She trotted enthusiastically towards the sacred machine.  Yes, _the _sacred machine, Lorelei baptized it the last time she was here.  If weren't for Rory's vehement protest, she would have taken the next step and name it.  

"I'll just bring these book to the study and put it on your bookcase…"  He walked into the study/guestroom and looked at the bare walls, "…after I assemble the bookcase."

"Yeah, that would help.  I wasn't a LEGO kind of kid."  She yelled back from the kitchen.  

"I had this image of you having more of a Masterpiece Theater kind of childhood.  Where's the toolbox, that is if you have one."

"Luke made sure I packed one along.  He also gave me a big speech involving rabies and robots when I told him I didn't want to.  And after a while, in a moment of panic or boredom, I found myself agreeing with him. I'm sure the toolbox is in one of these."  She pointed to the myriad of boxes sitting on the living room floor.  

"This is going to be a long night won't it."  He started prying open other boxes, exposing even more books along the way.

"At least we have _the _good coffee."  Rory replied handing him a mug of the steaming heavenly brown liquid.  "And now that Luke is married to mom, I can proudly say this is family recipe."

~*~*~*~*~ 

"Finally, we're down to the last one."  Dean announced exhaustingly.  The fact that this girl possessed so much _stuff_ was beyond his belief.  He couldn't understand the need for her to bring the wacky monkey lamp along to NYC.  But then again, Rory is not someone you could easily understand.  He handed out the bubble-wrapped object to Rory and the next thing he pulled out surprised the both of them.  There, decked out in its full glory of glitter glue, sparkly stickers, and childish doodle was the Dean Box.  A wave of nostalgia hit them.  Like any other teenage relationship, Rory and Dean's fizzled as time went by.  There were no hard feelings, just many memorable moments and a few good quotes.  

"I didn't know you have a Dean box."  Dean was surprised.

"Why not?  You have a Rory box.  Or at least you had." 

"How do you know?"  Even more surprise.  After all, his more masculine version of the box is still sitting in the bottom of his closet.  And time after time, he would still scramble for an odd picture or a note just for the sake of memory.  It was suppose to be a secret.

"Your sister told me."  She laughed at the saucer eyes of Dean.  He followed her as she moved the whole thing towards he couch and set it on the floor nearby.  "Let's see what's in it."  

He let her set her head on his lap as he pulled out a photo album.  He absentmindedly stroked her silky hair. For a split second there, he thought he was 17 again and there they were, cuddled in a much messier living room in Stars Hollow.  Of course back then, they were in love.  He still loved her, just in a different way now.

"Look, me in a Doose's Market apron.  Man, it looked more embarrassing than I remembered.  Okay, you're laughing too hard at my expense, next."  He shook his head as he flipped to the next page.

"Me preparing for our first and only dance.  My hair looked stiff."  She complained.

"Your hair was fine.  Remember I was having a verbal spar with Tristan and I called him an accountant?"  Dean saw the silence as an affirmation.  "Funny how things turned out and now _I'm_ the accountant.  I always wondered, if you didn't tutor me in math, will I end up to be a roadie for the Black Halos reunion tour."

"Hmmm.  What's on the next page?"  She tried to steer this conversation away from anything Tristan related.  She stifled a yawn.  She's semi-tired, but she didn't want to give up her chance to laugh at their past.  With their busy schedule of growing up, god knows how long, if there will ever be a chance again, for them to do this in the future.  

"The car I gave you."

"It was a nice car.  Shiny."

"At least it was nice until Lorelei backed into it.  Rory are you tired."  He gently asked to half asleep form on his lap.  "Maybe you should go back to bed."

"No, I'm awake.  What's on the next page."  She mumbled incoherently.  Dean snapped the photo album shut and set it on the coffee table.  

"No more photos tonight.  You need some sleep because I don't want you to do that when you're driving me to the airport in the morning.  Why don't I carry you to bed."

"No.  5 more minutes, this feels niiice."  She mumbled again, this time, her voice was so slurred that Dean could barely decipher it.  He pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over her.  It was nice to relive in those memories again.  Those were the carefree days when their heart would get all warm and fuzzy just for holding hands.  Or how the crappy movie and stale popcorn in the dark theater didn't matter because they were sitting next to each other.  Now, they had embarked on a different path, and will soon develop their own career and family.  These precious memories will be the only thing they were left to content with.  

He smoothed the hair to the back of her ears and planted a light kiss on her forehead.  There will always be something special between him and Rory Gilmore.  Sure, he had dated before her, but she was his first love.  One could never forget their first love, no matter how far apart they were.  Outside, the sun leisurely crept up between the silhouettes of the tall buildings.  

~*~*~*~*~

 The rest of the week went uneventfully for Rory.  She seamlessly adapted to her new job a made quick friends the people.  The only thing that stood out was Mr. Devereaux.  Tristan had massive trouble with the guy and ran out of way to satisfy his whims.  Her being on the lowest rung of the corporate food chain, meant that she was soon left to deal with him as a last ditch effort.  It turned out the guy was a French immigrant and all one had to do to get pass the steely exterior was to converse with him in French.  Before she knew it, not only did he sign above the dotted line, he was also telling her stories of his childhood in Marseille.  

It was Friday night, and unlike most single twenty-something girl in New York City, Rory was spending her time at Mark's penthouse.  She promised to water the plant and collect the mail for him.  Normally, even when she didn't have to do this, she would still stay home and continue the Gilmore tradition of movie marathon with chocolate and/or sugar laden munchies.  Just when she was walking into the penthouse, her cell phone clamored for her attention by chirping in her bag.   

"Hello."

"It's me."

"Mark!"  Her voice was not without joy.  He only called her once to check up with her on her new job and true to her words, she missed him.  

"Did you collect my mail?"

"Performing such task as we are speaking."

"Anything urgent."

"There's the electrical bill, but it's due 3 weeks later, so don't worry.  Also, you've been pre-approved by 5 different banks for a platinum visa."

"I _have_ platinum visas.  Plural."

"Well, they're going to the recycle then.  By the way, I'm taking my charcoal suit to the drycleaners.  Need me to drop off some of your stuff while I was there?"

"Yeah.  There is this blue cashmere vest that needs to be dry-cleaned.  Ohh, also a camel colored overcoat."

"I can't find your vest."  

"It's on the top shelve of the left corner of the closet."  She stood tipped toe in front of his walk-in closet.  Even though she stood at a respectable 5'7", the sweater still managed to evade her hands.  She walked to the study and later come back with a long ruler.  But when she teased off the sweater, she got more than what she bargained for.  A little black velvet box came down and hit her forehead.

"Ouch!"

"What happened."  The voice from the other end of the phone was brimmed with concern.  

"Nothing."  She picked up the little jewelry box.  _Nothing?_  "I lost my balance and hit my head against the door.  I'm fine now."

"That's good.  Umm, I have to go now.  I'll see you next Saturday.  Love ya."

"Love ya."  Marks voice was replaced by the monotonous dial tone. But Rory didn't notice that.  She was still fixated on the black box.  Every human in possession of a pair of X chromosome knew what the content of this was.  If not, they could probably give a ballpark figure.  It was programmed in the genetics.  Rory had a gut feeling.  But she just didn't want to trust the secondary function of her digestive system.  _Don't do it!_  But against the advice of the little voice in her, she opened the box, and its content shocked her.  She snapped the box shut and one of Mark's phrases inconspicuously floated into her head.  _I have something to tell you once I got back.  _  

The innocent little box weight heavier in her hand than it looked.  She took a few deep breaths.  She needed an impartial judge…_RIGHT NOW!  _She scrolled down the speed dial of her cell phone until the name came up.  The person on the other side picked up after 3 rings.  Before any greetings were exchanged, Rory talked to the person with the steadiest voice she could muster.

"I need you here…NOW!  I don't care, I NEED YOU HERE!  You can continue to yell at me and go on with that string of obscenities once you are here.  I'm at Mark's place right now and I'll tell the doorman to let you in.  Seriously, I need you to be here!"  _Mark Walcott, what have you done?_

Final a/n:  Oooo…suspense.  What is in that box?  (I'm sure you smart readers would know!)  Who is coming over?  (I'm not sure if you could guess that one, but give it a try!)  And how would Rory respond?  Before you start throwing rotten food at me, I just want to remind you that I DID NOT guarantee a trory…okay, _now_ you can throw stuff at me.  But please don't spam my e-mail, because it would crash my computer and I still need it to write the essay.  That would just be MALICIOUS.


	3. Scherzo

Thank you very much for all those responses you guys posted, you guy were the ones that kept me going.  You = wonderful!  Some of them were what I expected (fruit throwing and the occasional threat if I don't make it trory); then there's melissa, which is so far out left field that I might've choked on my coffee (No actual coffee was wasted during the process.)  As promised, I started writing once I had my organic chem exam (why…won't…you…die!!)  I was also experiencing a lot of ups and downs, both family related and Olympic related (I'm going to play it safe by investing all my hopes in the Canadian curling team.)  So, if there's some hidden angst, don't blame me, blame it on whoever made bridge an Olympic sport.  Oh I'll just shut up now and let you guys read… don't forget to review!

Disclaimer:  All I'm saying is if *I* own Gilmore Girls, you think you'll read this story in a place call fanfiction.net instead of watching it on WB.  I don't own them, obviously, 'cause if I do, I'd annex Chad Michael Murray and…  Anywhoo, no actual cars were bombed during the making of this fic.  Fluffy's choice of music was Tool's Lateralus.  (That was just useless information I employ to clutter up the page.)

**When Will the Music Stop?**

It's been one hour since Rory made the call.  The ring was still nestled inside the box in the middle of the coffee table; oblivious to the emotional roller coaster effect it has on her.  She didn't opening the box again as if the smooth velvet would burn her fingers.  Her mind was blank if not for the few scattered memories that crossed her mind.  Most of them concerned Mark and though she hated to admit it, a few of them were about Tristan.  The doorbell rang right on time to save her from another journey down the memory lane.

"When you meant emergency, this better not be one of those Kevin Bacon movie marathon type of emergency.  I don't mind Apollo 13, but Hollow Man was just vile."  The blond girl barked as she entered the penthouse.  

Rory closed the door behind her.  Paris Gellar might not be the obvious choice at a time like this, but she needed a sane and rational mind seeing that she didn't have one right now, and Paris was the closest she could get.  

Their mutual years in Harvard had propelled them into good friends.  There were still traces of hostility in Paris's part when they left Chilton.  But once the two were segregated into their separate faculties, she was able to look beyond her threatening intelligence.  The extended time they spent together even resulted in Paris rubbing off some of Rory's habits.  Namely her coffee addiction, love of junk food, and her music taste.  

 "My friend, this is definitely bigger than Kevin Bacon."  She tossed the box at Paris's direction.  "Tell me what do you see."

She was momentarily stunned when she saw the content, but that feeling didn't linger for too long.  Paris was seldom at lost for words.  "I see Tiffany's 1.5 carat princess cut diamond on a platinum band circa 1920."

"Thank you Antiques Road Show.  If I wanted an estimate, I would've went down to Fifth Avenue.  Now tell me, when does this say."

"Do you mean the inscription or just the general subliminal meaning?"  She asked as she took the ring out of the box to study it.

"There's an inscription?"

"You didn't know?  I though you might have tried it on."

Rory shrugged her shoulders.  Heck, she didn't even want to look at the ring for an extended period of time, let alone try it on.  "No, what does it say."

"The inscription says: _L. Gilmore & M. Walcott_.  By the looks of it, I would say it's a wedding band.  I think that covered the subliminal message part"

"Oh."  Paris's observation confirmed her first impression.  It finally dawned on her that this is big; bigger than what she'll ever expect.  She loved Mark, _right?_  This was a happy Kodak moment, _right?  _But why's there this nagging feeling in the back of her head to prevent her from being totally happy.  Something was wrong here.

Paris saw the darting emotion in her friend's eyes.  "Spill."

"What?"

"You dragged me out of my Aunt Mira's gathering, not that I'm being ungrateful, all the way to uptown to look at a ring.  After making me state the obvious, not only did you not do the crazy-hugging-jumping thing with me, you did not show any vestige of happiness that was normally reserved for any other single female when confronted with such a nice piece of jewellery.  Now you better spill before I revive some medieval torturing methods to get it out of you."

Rory plucked the ring out of Paris's hand, put it back into the box, and snapped the lid shut.  "You better sit down before I begin the story."

~*~*~*~

"And that was how I found the ring and called you.  You know the rest of the story."  Rory surprised herself by being able to condense her past eventful week into 20 minutes.  She didn't left out any parts, including her encounters with Tristan.  Paris showed surprisingly minimal emotion when Tristan's name came up.  Then again, it was a long time since her infatuation and she'd grown up.

"I need sugar to process all this information."  Paris stood up and walked towards the general direction of the kitchen.  She had an unusual deer in the headlights look.  "Mark better stocked up on Oreos, cause this is definitely a high sugar junk food moment."

"Third cupboard to your right."  

Paris walked back later with an extra box of Twinkie.  "So you're working with Tristan now?"

Rory dug out an individually wrapped Twinkie.  "Yeah."

"I got a question.  Are you freaking out right now because of non-commitment issues or Tristan related issues?"

"Mark and I were together for nearly two years, I think I got the commitment part figured out."

Paris took a minute to digest the implications.  "Wow.  When you said story, I though it was just you getting cold feet."

"So, what am I going to do now?"

"Well, I'm not Ann Landers, and therefore I'm not qualified at dispensing relationship advice."

"I don't think Ann herself should be giving out advice either."

"But I do have one last question for you.  Who was the first person you thought of when you first saw the ring?"

"I was talking to Mark over the phone."

"Rory, that did not answer my question."  The ensured silence had answered the question better than any words.  

"I think you really should reassess your relationship with Mark.  There's just something fundamentally wrong about you thinking of another man when your boyfriend is going to propose to you.  And do it before he came back and pop the big question."

~*~*~*~

For the following week, Rory concentrated all her remaining energy on work.  She was chained to her desk, bending over stacks of paperwork and only left occasionally for debriefings and coffee.  One thing Harvard did was refined her procrastination skills.  Right now, she's applying that skill by doing anything but confront the issue at hand.  

Carter saw no wrong in her sudden surge of efficiency, but did wonder a bit.  Tristan noticed the drastic change too, but in a more detailed manner.  She was unusually quiet and there wasn't any verbal sparring between the two for 3 days now.  Her eyes lost its usual spark.  More than once he caught her wandered down the wrong hallway in search for the coffee machine.  Though he didn't know Rory Gilmore very well, he knew her well enough to know that she had an infallible built-in coffee radar.  Something was amiss here.

It was late Wednesday night when Tristan packed up.  Most people, unlike him, had already vacated the office.  Monotonous humming of various electronic machines disturbed the otherwise dead silent office.  He squeezed the sore muscle behind his neck as he walked out of his office.  9:30, maybe he could still catch The West Wing if he ran a few red lights.  But his TV watching plan came to an abrupt halt when he approached the office next door.  

Sitting in there was Rory Gilmore, slaving over folders and an assortment of documents.  She was so engrossed by her work that she didn't notice Tristan was standing by her door, taking in the sight and every little movement of hers.  The black plastic frame of her glasses did nothing to hide the signs of fatigue under her eyes.  Her fingers flew frantically over the keyboard accompanied by the occasional mild obscenity she would mutter.  Little pieces of hair had escaped from the restraining ponytail and she would stop every once a while to tuck it behind her ears.  He wished his hands were the ones that tucked away that piece of hair.  _Cut it out Dugray, she has a boyfriend.  She's off limits.  _

"Burning the midnight oil?"  He sauntered in and took the seat across her.  Rory's head shot up at the source of the voice.  Seeing that it was Tristan, she relaxed her shoulders.  

Things between her and Tristan had gradually warmed up in the past two weeks.  Not only did the awkward silence disappear, they've also assumed a light-hearted banter.  There might even be a line of trust among them.  Of course she'd trust him, he's the only person she knew in this office.  _That was the reason, right?_

"I still have to tie up the lose ends for our Parker presentation tomorrow."  Tristan picked up a sheet of paper off the floor and studied the numerical figures on it.

"I thought Jamie was suppose to do the research and paperwork.  All we had to do was look spiffy and interpret a pie chart in front of overpaid CEOs."

"Yeah, but he came down with pneumonia yesterday."  Rory took off her glasses and lightly rubbed to her temples.  "And seeing that good o' Jamie is the granddaddy of all procrastinators, I'm left to pick up the pieces."

"You could have asked for my help during the day."

"You were busy with your own cases.  Hey, what are you doing?"

Tristan scooped up an armful of documents and retreated from her office.  "We're working at my office."

Rory grabbed the remaining files and followed him; picking up pieces of paper that fell out of his arms on the way.  "I'm sorry if I do not follow the chain of conversation, but humour me anyways.  Why?"

"Your small office is too cramped for the two of us to work there.  Besides, my office has the perfect New York metropolitan view…and a state of art coffee maker."

"Ahh.  Silly me."

~*~*~*~

Tristan clicked on the save button for one last time and looked up to the sleeping form across his desk.  It seemed like the state of art coffee maker had lost its magic over Rory Gilmore.  But then again, she had been running on an empty tank for nearly 9 hours.  She fell asleep the exact moment when the sun rose 2 hours earlier.  He took a final trip to the photocopy room and prepared every portfolio necessary.  

Sometime during the night, she had removed her hair elastic and let her hair loose.  The chocolate mass was currently cascading all over his desk.  More than once he wanted to run his fingers through the silky strand; or toy with the soft natural curl on the ends.  He walked over and leaned towards her.  His heart was telling him to smell her hair, or trace his fingertips along her earlobe.  But he opted for listening to his head instead.  He gently shook her shoulders

"Wake up, sleeping beauty."

Rory allowed her eyes to open to a tiny slit.  "What time is it?"

"8:30."

"I've spent a whole night in your room."

"Your wrinkled skirt could attest to that fact."

"Gee, what would people think."  She gracefully stretched out her limbs.  Just like a cat.

"We had hot animal sex on my desk?"  He joked as he shoved his belongings into his suitcase the second time in the past 12 hours.  

"I was thinking more along the lines of: Hey, she worked hard, let's give her a raise.  And on top of that, let's give her an office with such a nice view."  She looked down at the busy streets and the slowly forming traffic jam while unconsciously smoothing out her skirt.  From where he's standing, Tristan could see the warm sunlight engulfing her outline.  

"For that I have two things to say.  Carter was going to evaluate you with the Parker presentation; and Millis is going to retire in 6 months."

"His office has a nice view."  She went into her office to retrieve her purse and suitcase.  "The presentation is 11:30, right?"

"Yep.  Did you drive to work?"

"No.  I sent it to the mechanic since it's making this clicking noise when the air condition was turned on."  She answered as they stepped into the elevator.  

"I'll give you a ride home."

"With the traffic jam outside, I doubt you can drop me off and go back to your place, and make it to Parker's on time."

"Well, there's always the second choice of you catching a cab, then get stuck in a traffic jam going home AND going to the Parker's.  That's way, you, will make it there on time."

"You have extra clean shirts, razor's and such in your car right?"  He nodded as he turned off the alarm to his Mercedes.  "You can take a shower at my place, I'll make you some coffee, then you can drive the both of us to Parker's, on time."

"Anxious to get me into the shower, Mary."  He winked at her suggestively.  "I'll promise to scrub your back if you'd do mines."  

"No thank you.  I view showering as a solitary activity and I do not plan to change my mind in the near future."  She turned on the radio and scrolled to a rock station.  "And my name is Rory."

~*~*~*~

"Yes!  Yes!"  Rory jumped up and down enthusiastically once they stepped out of the building.  "I've passed the big test."

"Careful there, you're going to break your heel."  Tristan warned her laughingly as he caught up with her.  "You lunatic."

Rory performed extraordinary well throughout the presentation.  She behaved with pose and confidence that was usually absent in most newcomers.  In the end, Mr. Parker was so satisfied with it that he was blatantly offering her a job.

"We did it!  It was worth every cup of stale coffee and all 5 hours of bad circulation in that conference room."  She jumped into Tristan's arms and surprised him with a warm hug.  She clumsily detangled from him once she realized what she was doing.  A sudden sense of emptiness rushed through him.  

"We should celebrate by having dinner together."

"I don't know."  There really was no good reason for her to refuse the offer.  Of course she couldn't tell him that she felt attracted to him and cheating on her boyfriend when she's around him.  And this had all the markings of a date.  "CSI is on tonight."  It was a lame excuse

"This is the first time in history that a TV program was picked over a Dugrey.  Generations of Dugreys are kicking themselves in their graves as we speak.  Come on, I know this place, hole in the wall, good food, big portions.  Besides, you still owe me that coffee."  He steered Rory towards his car.  He saw his chance when she hesitated.  "I'll come over and pick you up at 7ish."

~*~*~*~

"So that concludes my cherry bomb story.  Let's say the ending-slash-punishment involved bathroom floor scrubbing and push ups."  He took a sip of red wine from his glass.  Tonight, Rory was sitting across him wearing a black turtleneck long sleeved dress.  The fact that she always had a simple stylish little black dress for every occasion baffled him.  

If somebody told him 5 years ago that he and Rory Gilmore would sit together and enjoy dinner in a civilized manner, he would've laugh.  But then was a time when he taunted and made fun of her mannerisms, not exactly an attractive quality in his part.  _This is dinner with an old friend.  This is NOT a date!_

"That's probably the most exciting military school story that I have.  So, how was Chilton without me?"

"Number one, no more people making out in front of my locker."  She laughed at the gag face he made.  "Paris let loose a bit.  I'm the co-editor-in-chief for the Franklin in the end of the year.  As for graduation, she settled for class President with me being the Valedictorian."

"Amiable feat.  How did you pry that out of her death clutch?"

"She got an A in AP physics.  I got an A+."  She stopped long enough to refuse the waiter's offer for the dessert menu.  "Then there's this time when Paris was sick AND it was April's fool."

"I like where this is heading."  

"I flexed my EIC muscles and made the Franklin a satirical newspaper.  It was very The Onion.  Our headlines include "Chilton adopted plaid pattern when repainting lockers."  We even renamed it Frankenstein and had Josh covered the local election as if it's based on the candidates' fashion sense.  Madeline wrote a fake love problem Q & A.  Louise gave the Backstreet Boys five stars because of their bodacious butts."

"Which is not that far from Louise's style.  Did Paris have a heart attack?"

"I wish I had a camera.  She was so ready to chop my head off.  Principle Charleston thought it was a nice break from the usual dead serious articles.  I also had the rest of the Chilton staff behind my back, which prevented me from an early trip to the grave.  She settled down once she actually read it.  I think I caught her laughing over it.  Thanks for the dinner by the way."

"I don't know what you're talking about."  Tristan feigned an innocent look.

"When you went to the washroom, I saw you slipped your visa to the waiter."

"Busted.  Here, let's go before these people bore a hole in the back of my head."  He gestured at the impatient group huddled at the foyer.  He took over their coats from the coat check and helped her put it on.  A whiff of her vanilla shampoo found its way to his nose.  He resisted the urge to kiss the nape of her neck.  Once they stepped outside to the refreshing autumn air, his head cleared up.  

"Let's walk, my place is only 5 blocks away."

"I'd think so, seeing that my car was parked at your place when I picked you up.  So, tell me more about your idyllic town and its assortment of characters."

"There's Miss Patty, who managed to squeeze in a sixth divorce when I left.  Then there's Jess, who managed to skip being Miss Patty's seventh when he left."

"That's your cousin Jess right?  The one that's Luke's nephew and borderline JD."

"Yep.  During his short stay in Stars Hollow, he managed to break every single crime record and increased the local crime rate by 500%.  Most of them were just pranks, but Taylor didn't see it that way."  A chilling wind stroke pass her and she hugged her coat closer.

"You're cold."  It was a statement.  He took off his scarf and tied it around her neck.  His hands lingered on the scarf a tad longer than it should have been in a mild possessive manner.  It was an intimate gesture, Rory felt like leaning in for a kiss.  Apparently, it was a feeling reciprocated by Tristan.  He was staring intently at her eyes.  The two remained as still life fixtures in the busy street.  But the moment was ruined by someone bumping into her unapologetically.  _It ruined the moment?_

The rest of the walk was consumed by suffocating silence.  _Snap out of it,_ _Rory.  Remember, Mark is going to propose to you.  And your answer will be…_

"Here's your place.  I guess I'll see you tomorrow."  The both of them remain rooted in their positions.  It was as if neither of them wanted to be away from each other's company.  There might even be sparks of fireworks if one observed carefully.  Rory stepped up and hugged Tristan.

"Just in case I didn't tell you, it was nice seeing you again."  She whispered into his ears before she went into her building.    

She let out the breath that she didn't realize she was holding when she finally walked into her apartment.  Tristan's scarf was still firmly wrapped around her neck.  It smelled distinctly of his aftershave.  She walked into the living room and played the lone message on her answering machine.  

"It's me, Mark.  I know I got home earlier than expected ……listen, I really need to talk to you…it's important.  Just come over to my place once you hear this message.  I don't care how late it is…I guess I'll see you then."  

She unwrapped the scarf and pressed the soft wool against her face.  That was the moment when Rory knew her answer.

~*~*~*~

Rory sucked in a deep breath before she pressed the doorbell.  _Here goes nothing.  _The fact that she had made a decision did not make this moment any more dreadful.  Mark came to the door the second time she rang it.  The door opened to reveal a slightly dishevelled Mark.  His tie was loosened and his hair was tousled.  There were faint dark circles under his eye.  Basically what Rory would've looked like if she hadn't took the nap before dinner and applied waterproof mascara.  

"Do you know it's a bitch to catch a cab this time of the day."  She smiled.

"I'm sorry to have you over so late.  I know you have to work tomorrow."  He kissed her on her lips.  No sparks.

"Don't worry.  I pulled an all-nighter for a very important client last night and I managed to talk my boss into giving me a day off tomorrow.  Besides, I have to talk to you too."  She sank herself into the soft cushions of his couch.  She recited her lines one last time in her mind.  But whatever Mark said next was not part of the script.

"I'll go first.  This is a long story, and I want you to listen before you say anything.  I met someone in Prague."  Mark paused a moment to gauge her reaction.  That was _not_ the opener she expected.  

"Continue."

"Her name is Katherine Carnigan.  We used to go to school together.  My father put me in a public school before high school in order to establish common values in me.  He didn't want me to end up like any other snobby rich kid to drives around in a Porsche and laugh at other people's misfortune.  Kat was the stunningly smart girl-next-door with a warm heart.  Now I think of it, she had long auburn hair and her mother would tie them into a French braid for her everyday.  I guess somewhere along, we clicked and started a tentative relationship.  She was the only warm presence in my otherwise cold life.  She was my first love

"But word got to father and he quickly put a stop to it.  He wanted his son to understand the value of a dollar, but by no means date someone who doesn't have any.  The daughter-in-law he had in mind was someone smart and strong; someone that would graduate from an ivy league school and take over the family business beside me; someone that could still organize a 200 guest luncheon on top of that.  It was the summer before high school; her mother got a promotion and moved to another state, which I'm sure my father was involved in it.  I was ushered into Ealing Prep and that was the end to that.  At least I though that was the end to that.

"When I was in Prague, I saw her again, and these feelings rushed into me.  I don't know what these felling are.  I don't know what they mean.  But I'm sure I'm not supposed to have them when I'm with you.  I can't help but to notice the similarities between you two."  He picked up her hand and kissed the back of her hand.  "Rory, you are a wonderful person…"

"Before you finish that sentence, I have a question for you."  She slipped her hand out of his grasp.  Rory was surprised by her calm and rather emotionless voice.  "Was I all along a mere substitution for what you cannot have?"

"Rory, it's just…"

"Stop.  I asked you a yes or no question.  There are only two answers to such question and both of them involve less syllables than where you're heading."  She thought she was going to cry when she saw him nodded.  But all she felt was an empty void.  No crying, no bitch slapping, no hair pulling, just a blank face.

She dung into her purse and came up with a set of keys and a scrap of paper.  "These are your keys.  All the letters I've collected are on your desk.  The cashmere vest is back in the closet."  _Along with the ring.  _"This is the stub for the overcoat, which should be ready by next Monday.  I think it's best if I leave now."  She walked briskly out of Mark's place.  He didn't stop her.  

Even when she was out of earshot, she still didn't cry.  _Rory, your boyfriend just told you he had feelings for an old flame.  Is this all you can do?  _She flagged down a taxi and told the driver her destination.  She didn't feel a sense of lost; but rather, a sense of release.  A notion glided into her thoughts suddenly.   _Because he was all along a mere substitution of what she cannot have._

~*~*~*~

Six months later, Rory was busy unpacking boxes in her new office.  Her break up with Mark had produced a few ripples and speculations in the Hartford gossip circuit.  Some of them were dangerously close to the truth, but most of them were filled with off the wall notions.  It was quite an entertaining process seeing what they would cook up for her.  As expected, they were soon off their backs when Mrs. Landals had an alleged abortion during her stay at the Alps.  

She saw Mark a few times during social gatherings.  Things were pretty peaceful between them.  He would still raise his glass and gave her a silent toast when he spotted her across the room.  She still made the secret gesture when she saw a piece of spinach stuck between his teeth.  Rory made sure her response to his could-be marriage proposal remained a secret.  Paris probably guessed right, but she could be tight-lipped with needed.  Mark didn't need to know she was going to break up with him, with or without Katherine Carnigan.  This might be better on his ego.  

Her grandmother was pitching her against every rich dashing bachelor, she got a raise, and things were still weird between her and Tristan ever since that dinner.  In short, everything was back on track.  Speaking of the devil.

"Morning Rory.  How's the unpacking?"  Tristan poked his head into her office.  Most of the time, she was confused by his actions.  Although he had abandoned the three year old in a sandbox trick, it didn't make him any easier to interpret.  She caught him staring at her a few times.  Sometime she would bump into him in the hallway when the pair was preoccupied by some paperwork, and they would linger longer than necessary.  There was once she thought he would lean in and kiss her, which, she would not object, but it ended up with her staring at thin air when she opened her eyes.  Their relationship was in a limbo and the only sure thing she could say was they were more than just friends.  _But how much more?_

"It's an ongoing process.  Do I smell coffee?"  Her nose turned up to the air to mimic a bloodhound.  

"Here you go."  He handed over the thermos.  "The company usually gives out engraved pens for people receiving their fist raise.  But I thought you might get more mileage out of this."

"What else is there behind your back?"

"How did you know?"

"I can see the reflection off the glass door."

Tristan walked over to close the door while making sure her nosey secretary was not perching outside eavesdropping.  "This is my gift to you."  He pushed the elegantly wrapped brown box in front of her.  She uncovered the box to reveal a pair of Ozzy Osbourne tickets within.  Her past flashed before her eyes.

"What is this suppose to mean?"  

"This means, I, Tristan Dugrey, am asking you, Rory Gilmore, out to an Ozzy concert."

"Why?"  She leaned against her desk for support.  

"You don't get it do you?"  He sat down gloomily on her leather couch and ran his fingers through his golden hair.  "I like you, Rory.  I've liked you since the day you walked into Chilton and walked into my life.  Granted, I was an ass during our previous encounters and I don't blame you for disliking me.  I though it was a harmless crush and I'm sure I'll get over you.  But I didn't.  You were different then the spoiled brats around you and you kept your ground.   You could be popular.  All you had to do was re-hem your skirt and apply more makeup.  I realised that was more then a crush when I was heartbroken over you kissing Dean in the courtyard, or when I was trying to garner attention by going through a safe, or when I wished you the best of luck every night before I went to bed while I was in military school.  

"The second time I saw you was at the Pratt's party.  You were everything I dreamt you would be and everything more.  There was something in the air in the library that night.  But you had previous attachments.  Same thing applied to our celebratory dinner six months ago.  We weren't in the position to act on our feelings and we didn't.  Now we have a chance.  All I want is to know if there's really the right chemistry between us or was it old baggage that I couldn't let go.  Perhaps we can move on after this.  Perhaps together, perhaps not, but at the very least, we'd know."

"You like me?"  Rory repeated his words hesitantly as if it was a foreign notion.

"I have a yellowed PJ Harvey ticket in my wallet to prove that.  So what do you say?"

"I don't know.  I can't say I'm free of any doubts.  Sometimes I would look into a mirror and I couldn't recognise my reflection.  I'm comfortable around the people that my mom and I would make fun of when there was nothing good on TV.  I'm comfortable working around these people.  I knew the best bottle of champagne in Mr. Jakob's cellar and the price of the latest Louis Vuitton handbag.  I'm no longer the naïve girl that grew up in Stars Hollow.  And I'm afraid if I say yes, I'll become one of those society sluts that jump from one meaningless relationship to another for the rest of my life."  Her voice got progressively louder and in the end she was practically yelling at him.  She might've even shed a few tears.  

He walked towards her and wrapped her in a tight embrace.  He spoke in a soft voice, as if he's pacifying a baby.  "Rory, I'm not asking you to love me, or marry me, or have my baby.  I'm asking you to go to a damn good concert with me and be in my company for an extended period of time.  If there is nothing, we'll come back to this office and trade weather remarks and go back to being friends.  Back to normal, no harm done.  But if there's more, I promise you, this will never be a meaningless relationship.  I dreamt of this for too long and I promise I'm not going to mess up this time."  He tipped her chin up and looked into her sapphire eyes.  "No strings attach."

"No strings attach?"

"Yep."  He wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eyes.  

"Why don't you pick me up at around 7ish."

_Finis_

Final a/n:  Yes, _tha_t was it.  I don't really like super sweet ending with words such as "I love you" and a big kiss thrown in.  Crappo ending, no?  Epilogue, no?  In a ranting mode, no?  FYI, I'm not holding you guys ransom in the gimme me more review or no more next chapter.  It's just I'm so emotionally spent lately, I doubt I can write any more.  But even if I do (talking a-huge-stretch-don't-keep-your-hopes-up-too-high kind) it would be something set in far future.  Hope you guys had fun out of this.  If you want big sweet happy ending, look somewhere else.


	4. D.C. al fine

            Thank you VERY much for all your reviews.  I especially enjoyed the constructive criticisms.  As I reread you comments again and again (pathetic, yes?) I realized you guys were on to something.  Something _is_ missing.  Hence this spiffy epilogue (or at least what was intended as a spiffy epilogue.)  I hope it addressed all your opinions and though I enjoy reading more of your fabu opinions, this is _it_.  That it, the end of the gravy train.  Hope you had a pleasant ride.  Thanks for sticking with me for the whole time.  You support duly cherished.

            Disclaimer:  You think I _own_ this moolah?  What planet are you from?

**When Will the Music Stop?**

"Morning."  Charlie said to the grouchy but impeccably dressed figure as she waddled into the spacious kitchen.  

            "Mmgab cmmig."  Rory sputtered out before collapsing on the table.  Charlie laughed at the familiar sight.  The exact scene had replayed numerous times since he could remember.  Rory Gilmore was definitely not a morning person.  

            "For this morning, you have the choice of French toast, pancakes or waffles.  Hey wake up."  He poked her repeatedly with the handle of his spatula in a failed attempt to wake her up.

            "I'm sorry, is your mouth moving?  Is sound coming out of it?  Are you talking to me?  I can't comprehend a single word.  Charlie, be a nice boy and get mommy some coffee…_quick_."

             "Ever think of quitting before getting osteoporosis because of it?"  He said as Rory snatched the giant mug from his grasp and chugged it down.  He took a slower approach towards his coffee.  His second cup of the day.  

            "Preposterous."  She answered in an upright position.  Life poured into her eyes and her gestures became more animated thanks to the extra caffeine punch.  "Who put such ridiculous notion into your head?  Luke?  Tristan?"  She took another gulp from Charlie's mug before surrendering it to him under his intense glare.  True to the Gilmore tradition, he didn't like sharing when it comes to coffee and coffee related substances.

            "American Journal of Health Sciences."  He went back to the pan in time to flip the French toast, revealing its golden surface and its enticing aroma.  "I believe that is considered as a reputable source in most parts of the civilized world."

            "Tequila induced knowledge, not a shred of truth to it.  You have to stop reading educational stuff before it screws up your brain."

            "Where's dad?"

            "Hogging the bathroom and possibly using my crème rinse.  His hair couldn't be that soft with the kind of shampoo he uses.  Besides, my bottle is emptying at an alarming rate."

            Rory took a good look at her son.  She can't believe it's been 16 years since she first saw that little black blur in her sonogram.  From the outside, he was an exact replica of his father.  Tristan's blue eyes, the messy hair, down to the condescending smirk he would wear when he won the scrabble game.  But deep inside, as Lorelei put it, he's a Gilmore girl.  The coffee addiction, the insatiable appetite for knowledge, and the ability to keep up with the fast paced talking of the two elder Gilmore girls.  The best of both worlds.  But Charlie still has many hidden talents up his sleeves.  

            "I never could understand how you can cook."  Rory walked over to him and saw him expertly transfer the breakfast to the plate.  She kissed his cheek as he handed her the plate.  "My culinary capacity stopped short at not burning a pop tart.  Your father never lifted a finger around the kitchen.  The time he tried to make me breakfast in bed, disaster.  Lorelei once tried to make chicken parmesan, which resulted in hamburger at … wait a minute … you got that from Luke's.  He's not even a blood relative!  How did he do that?"

            "Trade secret."  He winked at her.  "I hope you'll do something about that hair of yours before the interview."

To Rory's surprise, Tristan agreed to enrol Charlie in the local public school before the age of sixteen.  Not extremely out of character for him.  He didn't want his son to end up like a cocky jerk like he did when he was his age.  Such move would account for Charlie's relatively small ego and his entourage of real friends.  

But they also knew that he needed the further polishing of a prep school.  It was no-brainer for the two alumnus to send Charlie to Chilton.  Unlike Rory, he was not in for the guarantee Ivy League entrance; the combined name of Dugray and Gilmore will be more than sufficient.  A challenging environment like Chilton would only benefit Charlie's intellect.  Also, you can't dismiss the kind of contacts one could build when one's young.  Today will be his first day at Chilton.  

            "My hair is fine."  She self-consciously ran her palm over the head to smooth out any flyaway.  Her hair was twisted into an intricate knot at the back of her head.  A respectable style in Rory's opinion.  "You make anymore complaints, I'll dig out my old Chilton uniform and do the Britney dance in the hallway a la 'Baby Hit Me One More Time'."

"Oh boy." He generously dumped maple syrup on his pancakes before putting a small piece into this mouth.  "I know you were known as a hot mom in some circles, but _that_ would just be wrong."

"What is it that I heard about my wife being a hot mom?"  Tristan said as he entered the kitchen.  He put down the newspaper and gave his wife a long kiss; a ritual he continued for 18 years.  

"Society's twisted concept no doubt."  She replied as she straightened Tristan's tie and smoothed out his collar.  "I used to have a hot dad.  Actually, I think I might have a hot mom too."  

"Lucky you.  All I had was a drunk mom."

Tristan was not joking when he said that.  He remembered how most of his childhood was spent in isolation.  His father committing a majority of his time to a never ending throng of affairs and his mother committing an equally large proportion of her time to alcohol.  The only time they were together was in front of cameras, pretending to care for each other.  Marriage on paper.  

That was the kind of family Tristan had and he was determined to not let history repeats itself for Charlie.  Not a hard task to do considering he had the help of Rory.  He looked around the table and saw it: the loving wife, the 2.5 kids, and the dog … except for the extra 1.5 kid and the dog.  They'd learned their lesson; three high maintenance people did not bode well with a high maintenance pet.  This is the perfect all-American TV family under his roof.  He was proud.  

"Rory, did we fire the cook?"  She replied him with a dumbfound look.  "What's with Mr. 'Kiss the Cook' apron here?" 

"This is my latest attempt to provide you guys with a nutritionally balanced breakfast.  Is this all the thanks I get?"  Charlie huffed as he poured the batter into the waffle iron.  "Marie went to the farmer's market this morning for the ingredients of tonight's dinner.  Also, this is my bribe to you guys.  I don't wake up an hour early for nothing.  Please don't embarrass me in front of principle Charleston."

Tristan nearly choked on his orange juice.  He had a less than stellar history with the old man.  "Still Charleston?  What is he, an immortal?"

"I heard his nephew took over Chilton; a younger, equally tight fisted and an exact look-alike of the elder Charleston.  It should be interesting."  Rory answered over the comic page of the newspaper.  

"Of course this is interesting.  They're on the edge of their seats wondering what kind of hybrid could result between the class valedictorian and the guy who got expelled.  This is like the return of the prodigal son, except, it's bigger than that."  Charlie said as he slid the plate of fluffy waffles in front of Tristan.

"What's this?"  Tristan balked at his breakfast causing Rory to look up from her papers.

"Waffles."

"It has a face on it."  He pointed at the Hello Kitty that was positioned in the center.

"So?"

"Did you not hear me?  It has a _face_ on it!  This is a chick waffle.  A man _can't_ eat chick waffles.  It's _looking_ at me!  This is all very Hannibal."

Rory took the jar of strawberry preserves and applied a heaping spoonful of it on the cartoon cat.  "There, it's no longer looking at you.  Better?"

"Yeah.  Why do we have the Hello Kitty waffle iron anyways, isn't that Lorelei's?"  

"Long story short:  Luke hated it, you lost in a game of poker, you have the possession of the waffle iron."

"Right."  

"Are you guys going to give me a ride to school or am I driving?"

"Didn't you remember?  You sent the car to the mechanic for oil change.  We've arranged for it to be delivered to your school some time during the day.  We'll drive you to school and have that interview with the principle."  Rory said while polishing off the rest of her French toast.  You'll drive home, preferably, alone."

"Right."

"You got space number 5.  I had it; your grandfather and great grandfather had it.  It's tradition."  Tristan thumbed through the stack of newspaper for the financial page when he came across an unexpected black and white photo of the local news section.  "Looking sharp, Mrs. Dugray."  He handed Rory the paper.  

It was a picture of their previous night at the gala.  Tristan wearing his expertly tailored Armani tux and Rory in her signature one-shouldered black dress.  Their fingers were entwined together and their smiles genuine; the golden couple.  Deep inside, they both know they don't belong to the deceptive world of society.  But the two CEOs of one of the largest enterprise of the country couldn't stay holed up in their cosy home.  Most of the time, they would show up for the obligated appearances and invent creative ways to retire home before midnight.  Last night was Rory's turn.  

Both still commanded respect and attention from their peers.  Tristan matured considerably since the day Rory first met him.  Make no mistake; he still carried himself with the air of importance and his stride still confident.  But there were hidden wisdom behind every laugh lines and the glinting blue eyes spoke of experience.  Older, but still unmistakably handsome.  Rory was a different matter.  She seemed to have stopped aging.  Time did not leave any souvenirs on her smooth alabaster skin and the childish expressions.  More than once did amateur gossip columnists mistaken her as Tristan's latest trophy wife.  

"Same goes for you, Mr. Dugray."  Rory walked over and licked away the little drop of preserve the clung on the corner of his mouth.  Tristan saw the chance and deepened it to another soul-searing kiss.  

"Excuse me, I'm going upstairs to get my blazer."  Charlie put the dishes into the dishwasher.  "This way, I won't see anything that would required 5 years of intensive therapy."

Tristan waited till he disappeared from the kitchen.  "Finally, he's gone."  

He stood up and pulled Rory into an embrace, coxing her to dance along with the jazzy jingle he's humming. She gladly obliged, allowing him to lead her into twirls and fancy foot works.  

"Do you know what day this is?"  He asked in a breathless voice.  Breathless, not because of the dance, but of their close proximity.  She still had that kind of effect on him.    "The day I found you again."

Rory savoured the memory.  The mahogany bookcases, the leather bound volume, and the seductive jazz music along with the slightly cocky and slightly depressed boy.  They stood there; two halves of a whole.  

She let out a delightful squeal when Tristan dipped her at the end of his jingle.  She never got used to that.  It was great that they still have the bond after all these years.  He pulled her upright when they heard clapping down the hallway.

"Bravo.  Bravo.  Do this another time, Fred Astaire.  I don't want to be late for school."  She let out a hearty laugh when Tristan chased Charlie down the hallway, one of them screaming bloody murder.  She thanked her lucky stars again.  To think she might've missed out on all of this…

~*~*~*~ 

Mark Walcott was sitting in a solarium enjoying his simple breakfast when all of the above happened across town.  He day started out just like any other day: the routine videoconference with his right hand man, reports of the latest NYSE figures, and his daily dose of world news courtesy of the newspaper.  But one thing stood out in his routine today.  The picture of Rory Gilmore and Tristan Dugray smiled brilliantly at him when he was searching for the financial page.  

He bestowed more attention on the picture than what he would usually devote to the mundane scribbles of the Hartford high society.  They looked happy.  Not the kind of happiness that would fade along with the blinding effect of the camera's flash; but real happiness.  He remembered the day when she walked away from his life.  He had no regrets.  After all, it was for her own good.  

Maybe he should explain his story better.  There was no Katherine Carnigan.  There _never_ was a Katherine Carnigan.  It was a name he made up.  

He should start from the beginning.  Tristan's adolescent infatuation with Rory circulated among a tight group of Chilton students.  Such fact was unconsciously leaked to him when he started going out with Rory.  At first, he paid no attention, but then, telltale signs surfaced.  

Though she seemed happy, there was something, for the lack of better term, _missing_.  Sure, she would smile and laugh, in fact, she had an infectious laughter, but the happiness never quite reached her eyes.  The cornflower blues never conveyed the emotion it was intended for.  It was as if she was holding out for something, or _someone_.  

But then he saw her and Tristan in the library that night.  Sparks were flying, the missing emotions were pouring, the tension so thick, he was suffocating in it.  He put the pieces together.  That night, the verdict was reached: _They belong together_.

He arranged his trip to Prague the following Monday.  No, there was no contract dispute, there was not problematic business transactions; all clinks were solved _before_ the party.  He's going to take a well-deserved vacation in a beautiful city.  Rory could use the space and the time for some thinking.  He didn't know Tristan was working with her.  Bonus.

When he came back, he pushed her at the right direction with the news of his "ex-girlfriend."  She needed that push.  

He returned the ring back to the jeweler.  He was an old family friend and he trusted him to keep a secret.  The ring was an absurd notion he had before his knowledge of Tristan's existence.  He thought he was in love.  _He was not.­_  The sparkly stone was re-worked into a sophisticated pendent for her wedding present.   

From the beginning to the end, Rory never belonged to him.  Correction: Rory never belonged to be with him.  _Rory didn't belong to anyone but herself._  Tristan Dugray, on the other hand, belonged to be with her.  Nobody could change that fact.  

He folded the section away.  They are happy, and he's glad he didn't stand in the way of their happiness.

 _Fine_


End file.
